by Alyson Chase
Snowdon looked to Miss Lynn. “It only takes a very small group of determined people to make change.” The words came as if by rote, as though they’d been spoken by Snow a hundred times over.
Or heard by him.
Miss Lynn pressed her fist to her mouth, her eyes flying wide. “What have you done, Snowdon?” She gasped dramatically.
Juliana pressed her lips together. The woman’s acting was a bit overwrought in her opinion, but it seemed to work on many people. What did Juliana know about the effectiveness of a woman’s wiles? She’d rarely tried to employ them.
“Violence is never the way,” Miss Lynn continued.
Snowdon’s forehead wrinkled. “But… you know that action needs to be taken. That eggs need to be broken in order to make an omelet, as the French say. I’m only doing what you want.”
Miss Lynn clasped her hands together and frowned, looking like a disapproving nursemaid. “You knew that my brother was hurt in the Durham riots. I can't stand the thought of anyone’s pain. There’s too much misery in the world as it is.”
Another snort of laughter escaped Juliana. She must work on controlling that reaction. Not only was it inappropriate for the circumstances, but it was such an indelicate sound. What would Brogan think of her?
And that made her want to laugh harder. They were facing death and she was worried about appearing lady-like in front of her love? It was absurd and amusing all at the same time.
It must be the dire circumstances that were making her act so. She had hoped she would be the type of woman to keep her head in a tense situation, but apparently she was the kind of woman who snorted.
“How quickly your admiration of the French Revolution has evaporated,” Juliana said, “now that it has come time to face justice for your own actions. Did you not shrug your shoulders at the heads that rolled in the streets of Paris because you thought the cause was just? My brother would not have thought up this scheme on his own. Snow is not only spoiled, but he's too simple-minded to conceive of it. There was a viper speaking in his ear. That viper was you.”
Miss Lynn’s face darkened. “You don't know what you're talking about. But I’m not surprised. What else should I expect from an aristocrat?” She turned to Rose and raised her hands, palms up. “Their kind always covers for their own. Even the ones who join your salon, they might speak of equality, but they don't mean it. The Beau Monde will always look out for their own. Look for people like you and me to take the blame for their own actions.”
Rose sniffed. “Don't include me in your melodrama. I've had quite enough of the lot of you, regardless of class.” He grabbed his cane from his chair’s arm and stabbed the carpet at his feet, to emphasize his point. “Though I do feel most badly for you, Withington. Such nonsense you have to put up with.”
Juliana’s spine hardened. She was part of that nonsense. Her chance of ever joining his debate society was well and truly sunk. And she couldn’t even feel badly about it. It was something else that made her want to laugh.
Why had she spent so much time caring about Rodger Rose’s opinion of her? Debates and discussions and lectures were all very nice, but they weren’t life. Keeping one’s family safe was life. Having and holding the ones you loved. Those were the things that mattered. She’d been such a fool.
“It isn't rank Juliana’s trying to preserve.” Brogan fisted his hands, his knuckles going white. He inched forwards, his intended path putting him between Juliana and her brother's gun. “She’s saving her father, honoring him by risking everything. She believes in justice and truth and doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. But you wouldn’t know about that. A woman like Juliana can’t even be conceived of in your imagination, the two of you are so far apart.”
Juliana’s throat went thick. She loved him for thinking so highly of her, and hated him for putting her up on that pedestal he didn’t feel worthy of touching. If they survived this, she was going to have a strongly-worded speech to deliver to him.
“I'm the one holding the gun.” Snow waved it in the air. “I'm the one who decides justice here. And I want all of you to be quiet so I can think.”
The handle of Rose’s cane glinted in the afternoon light. Juliana’s breath caught in her throat. She circled away from Brogan, ignoring his scowl, and inched towards the poet’s side.
“Snow, somewhere deep inside, you know this is wrong. You know you could never be earl enough to make a difference.” Taunting her brother most likely wasn’t her smartest idea, but as it was her only one, she went with it. “Even your Miss Lynn knows that having control of a man such as yourself would gain her very little towards her revolutionary ideals.”
The toe of her boot nudged the leg of the side table next to Rose. A brandy glass atop it rattled, and she froze. She cleared her throat. “You and your friends, you're not filled with hopes for equality. You're filled with resentment. You know you're too weak, too pathetic, to change the world for the good, so you've decided to tear it all down instead.”
Snowdon’s arm swung from Juliana to Brogan to their father and back to her. “Shut your mouth, Sister.”
“Does the truth hurt?” She took another sliding step towards the poet's chair.
Brogan followed her movements like a hawk watches a hare.
She jutted her chin towards the cane, trying to tell him her intent without words. And probably not succeeding. “I know you. I know how as children, when I built a taller, grander sandcastle, you stomped through the sand, destroying it instead of trying to build yours better.”
Her skirts brushed Rose’s sleeve. “I remember when Father hired a fencing instructor for us, that after the first time I bested you, you bent all the epees so I could never win again instead of applying yourself to have a better form. Even in Rose’s salon, when a discussion occurs on a subject you don’t know, you mock and belittle the experts instead of trying to learn from them. You’ve always made fun of my aspirations, but I’d rather try and fail than give up as you have. It's easy to destroy. It takes a strong man to build.”
A shadow flickered across her brother's face. Juliana hoped he was considering his actions. Realizing what he'd done and who he’d become. If her brother could feel even a little remorse, there’d be hope for his redemption.
His next words buried those hopes. “You’re jealous,” he told her. “You've always been desperate to make a difference, to make a name for yourself in this world, always knowing that it would never happen. Now, when I finally stand up, take action, you can’t bear it.”
“Take action?” Their father swayed. “Killing me? That's what you call taking action?” His knees gave way, and Brogan and Dunkeld leapt forwards to catch the man's arms. They lowered him to a chair.
“I'm not going to stand here and listen to any more of this,” Miss Lynn said. She lifted her chin. “This family is full of criminals and liars.” She glared at Snowdon and Juliana. “If I never have anything more to do with you, it'll be too soon.”
She turned on her heel, her skirts flying.
And froze when the decided click of a pistol hammer being cocked ricocheted through the room.
“I thought you loved me,” Snowdon said. “You said you loved me, that you'd stand by me.”
Juliana’s heart squeezed. Even now, she felt sympathy for her brother. She took another sliding step towards Rose. His cane was almost within arm's reach.
Snowdon swung the pistol back at her.
“Put the gun down,” Brogan ground out through clenched teeth. He stepped forward, and Dunkeld gripped his shoulder, holding him back.
Juliana looked at the gun, at the cane, at Brogan. If she were going to die today, she wanted Brogan’s face to be the last thing she saw. She traced the bend in his nose that spoke of all the blows he’d taken, and all the times he’d climbed back to his feet. The stubborn angle of his jaw that charmed her when it wasn’t so irritating. The clarity of his ocean blue eyes that seemed to see deep into her
soul.
She didn't want this to be her last moments on earth. She wanted to spend hours laughing in bed with Brogan, making babies with him, growing old in his arms. But if it wasn't meant to be, if her eyes closed forever on his face, she would die content.
She and Brogan locked gazes. She rolled her eyes to the cane and back.
He shook his head. To tell her no, or that he didn’t understand?
It didn’t matter. She had one chance to end this, to protect the people she loved.
She nodded once, and took a deep breath, steeling herself. How badly did a bullet tearing through flesh hurt? Her heart raced. She could do this. If only she could make her limbs move. The barrel of the pistol looked huge. There was no way Snowdon would miss.
She drew her shoulder blades back. She’d wanted to make a difference. Well, now was the time.
She sucked down another deep breath, her muscles tensing.
But before she could make her move, all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brogan rolled onto the balls of his feet. It was a stupid, foolish, brave idea Juliana had. If he could have stopped her from implementing it, he would have. But there were several feet between them, and, besides, she never let anyone get in her way.
Damn, fool woman.
Since he couldn’t stop her, he needed to help. Her chest was bobbing up and down like pistons at full speed. As nervous as she was, he was surprised she didn’t swoon. Her hand twitched towards the cane’s head, and his time to work on a plan was up.
He whirled, swinging his fist straight at the marquess’s face.
Dunkeld’s eyes flew wide a moment before Brogan’s hand connected.
Brogan hadn’t used full-force, but pounding into the Scotsman’s thick jaw bloody hurt.
Dunkeld stumbled to one knee, and Brogan towered over him. “You’re in on this with Snowdon.”
The marchioness gasped and dropped next to Dunkeld, glaring at Brogan. “How dare you? You’ll pay for striking my husband.”
Dunkeld blinked up at him, his left eye already beginning to swell. Every other eye was turned toward Brogan, too.
Including Snowdon’s.
Juliana reached out, snatched Rose’s cane from under his hand, and grasped it tightly. With a move sure to make her former fencing instructor proud, she whipped the cane over her head and brought it down on her brother’s wrist.
Snowdon howled.
The gun dropped to the carpet.
And Juliana practiced a few more moves, walloping her brother over and over until he collapsed to the ground in tears.
As she was smacking the fleshy bits of her brother, areas that wouldn’t cause permanent damage, Brogan saw no reason to end her fun. Juliana had a lot of anger to release, and beating the source of it seemed fair to Brogan.
He picked up the pistol then turned to offer Dunkeld a hand up.
The Scotsman grunted, and got to his feet without Brogan’s assistance.
Brogan sighed. There went his job.
“No good… two-faced… sap skull…” Each oath from Juliana’s lips was accompanied by a sturdy swing of her cane.
Brogan studied her form, frowning.
Dunkeld stepped beside him. “She’s dropping her left shoulder with each swing.”
“I see that.” He could work on that with her later.
Snowdon pressed one hand into the floor, pushing his upper body upright. “Jules, please…”
Juliana threw the cane down and made a fist. “You don’t have the right to call me Jules.” She pulled her arm back.
Brogan leapt forwards and caught her hand just in time. He kissed her knuckles. “You’re more likely to hurt your hand than his head with an untrained punch, my love.”
Her chest heaved. Her eyes were wild. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“It’s over,” he told her. “You did it. Your father is safe.” Brogan darted a glance at the man. Withington was slumped in his chair, his face grey and haggard. He looked caved in, broken, but such a shock would do that to a person. Juliana would help him recover.
“While I’m quite happy no one is going to get shot, what do you think you were doing hitting my husband?” The marchioness planted her hands on her hips and glared at Brogan.
Dunkeld rubbed his face. “I believe I was the unwitting distraction he provided for Lady Juliana to grab Rose’s cane.”
Brogan shrugged. “You’re big enough to take a punch.”
Lady Dunkeld’s eyes went even squintier. “How dare—”
Her husband ran his hands up and down her arms. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve been hit harder by children,” he said archly.
Brogan ignored the insult. “Will you send for a doctor?” he asked Rose. “There’s a chance Snowdon and Miss Lynn put something in Withington’s food or drink that affected his health.”
Rose stood and shuffled to the bell pull. “And the dramatics continue.” He made his way to Withington and squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Of course, I’ll send for a doctor. Along with the magistrate.”
A servant entered. Over much protesting on Snowdon’s part and sneering on Miss Lynn’s, Rose directed the servant to have them held in the stables until the magistrate arrived. The appearance of several burly grooms as escorts put an end to their complaints.
Brogan shoved his hands in his pockets. His job was done. As was his short-lived career as an investigator. When he returned to the ring, there was an even smaller chance of ever seeing Juliana again than he’d had before.
His employers were aristocrats. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d thought perhaps he might run into her while performing a task for them. See her at an opera if an investigation took him there. But as a boxer, their paths would never cross.
He let himself enjoy one more moment of weakness and tucked an errant strand of Juliana’s hair off her cheek. His fingers lingered on her smooth skin. “You’ll be all right now. Goodbye, Juliana.”
She blinked. “What?”
“My job is over. It’s time I got back to London and looked for new employment. Your life is here, with your father.”
“New employment…” She looked at the raising bruise on the marquess’s face, her face clearing with understanding. She pointed a finger at the Scotsman. “You’d better not be thinking about dismissing Brogan. I don’t care how high up you and your friends are, if you end his employment, I will make it my life’s mission to destroy your agency’s reputation.”
Brogan rocked back on his heels. “Uh, Juliana, that’s not necessary. I’ll just—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” She included Brogan in her finger jabbing. “If you think I’m going to let you lose your job for such a trifle—”
“A trifle!” Lady Dunkeld huffed.
“—then you haven’t been paying attention to the kind of woman I am.” Juliana whirled on Rose. “I know you don’t like scenes. I suggest you leave now if you don’t want to witness the one I’m about to make.”
Rose grunted. “You saved your father. I suppose your behavior can be excused just this once.”
“Juliana…” Withington reached out, and Juliana took his hand, kissing it.
“Don’t worry, Father. I’ll take you home soon and we’ll work together to get past this.”
Brogan’s chest went tight. This really was the end. She’d sputter and fight for his job a few moments longer, then she’d disappear into Bluff Hall and he’d…
He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d be fine. His life had been tolerable before he’d met Juliana; it would be tolerable after she was no longer in it.
With one last squeeze to her father’s hand, Juliana stomped towards Dunkeld, her expression transforming into a terrifying scowl. Brogan almost felt bad for the marquess. Confronting an enraged Juliana was like facing an angry cat. Your chances for survival were decent, but you wouldn’t escape without seve
ral deep scratches.
“Juliana,” Brogan began.
She put her hand up, palm in his face. “We’ll talk later. Right now, your employer and I have—” She squawked as Brogan banded an arm around her waist and lifted.
He carried her out of the room, her squirming and cursing the entire way. At the door, he turned and nodded to their audience. “My apologies. I’ll return her later.”
“Put me down.” She clawed at the walls, as though that would stop their progress through the house.
Brogan kicked open one door, startling a maid, and continued down the hall. He kicked another door, and stomped inside after seeing the room was empty. He placed her down in the middle of the library, between floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and planted his hands on his hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing? There is a small chance you can still join Rose’s debate society. But squawking like an angry hen isn’t going to help you.”
She prowled around him. “The debate society? Who gives a fig about the debate society? This is your career we’re talking about. I’m not going to let you be dismissed for doing your job.”
He ran a hand up the back of his head. “I hit my employer. Of course I’m gone.” The dread he’d expected to feel wasn’t there. It had been worth it. He might want to show people he was more than just his fists, but when it came down to it, those were his best tools. Juliana had needed a bruiser, and he was happy to fill the role, regardless of the consequences.
“Why, exactly, did you hit Lord Dunkeld?” Her circling about him made him the slightest bit dizzy. She truly was like a cat, stalking her prey.
Brogan didn’t know whether to chuckle or take a wary step back. “It was a distraction, like Dunkeld said. If you were going to do something as foolish as disarm your brother, you needed as much help as you could get.”
She threw up her hands. “You couldn’t think of any other distraction besides punching your employer!”